Small Pleasures
by seeyoustandingthere
Summary: Grissom and Sara's involvement in a perplexing case leads Sara and Grissom to re-evaluate. Good old fashioned 'how did they..' GSR. rated for possible later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that. _

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

Sara walked quickly between the rows of vehicles clutching her kit, intent on the task ahead. She could see the slice of yellow crime tape up ahead and looked for an officer to admit her. She patted her pocket to ensure she had her ID without breaking stride. She felt strong and purposeful today, knowing there was a delicate and intriguing scene awaiting her. No, wait. Knowing that there was a delicate and intriguing scene _to be processed with Grissom_ awaiting her. She smiled ruefully to herself as she turned sideways to slide between two cars parked too close together. So she could still take pleasure in his company. So she still got a thrill from his call, from being the one he requested. There was no harm in that. She had worked long and hard to harness that thrill out of a whole mess of bigger, deeper emotions, and thought she pretty much had it down. She was confident they were on their way back to where they started – an excellent team, only with added comfort and a rare and beautiful history that they did not (any longer) use against one another.

An officer saw her coming, and strode back along the tape to lift it for her, using one arm to cut a path for her through the small group of onlookers that had gathered. He called her ma'am, which she quite enjoyed, and pointed to the off-white forensic tent that had been erected fifty yards further on. She could see why as she walked quickly across the sun-baked parking lot. This scene was wide open. The shopping mall to her left, the highway to her right. Cars parked at random all around, some of which would not be claimed until their scene was cleared.

Sara put her ID away and took out a pair of gloves before peeling back the entrance flap of the tent. The smell and the heat hit her at the same time, and she took a moment to adjust before stepping inside. Pushing her sunglasses up on top of her hair she took in what was in front of her.

"Jesus Christ." It was a massacre. Three bodies, and more blood than Sara had seen in a long while. The floor was awash with congealing pools of unusually large proportions. Grissom's camera flashed a couple more times before he lowered it.

"Hey."

"Hey," Sara replied, carefully placing her kit on a clean patch of tarmac. "What the hell happened here?"

"Three males, all aged thirty to thirty five, all apparently healthy."

"Until they had a run in with a chainsaw?"

"Take a closer look." She did, stepping around two of the bodies until she stood in the centre of the tent. She looked, and looked again, and then stopped.

"These injuries don't seem consistent with the bloodloss."

"It's not their blood."

"But they're all dead."

"You're good," he laughed. She shot him a sly look, and rolled her eyes.

"So three dead bodies, cause unknown, covered in someone else's blood."

She looked at him.

"Don't you have a quote or a witty saying to add right about now?"

"A witty saying proves nothing," he replied, feigning indignation. Sara snapped her gloves on, watching the small smile form on his lips.

"That's a quote too, isn't it?" Grissom's camera flashed.

"Voltaire."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that. _

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

"Grissom." He answered the phone on it's first ring, having seen the caller display. He was eager for anything where this case was concerned.

"Grissom – it's Robbins. Got some interesting results on your three john does. You coming over or you want me to reel it off?"

"I'll be right over."

Grissom took long, slow strides down the halls of the lab, looking for Sara. He had learned how to do this safely. To take his time, and form in his mind an image of her face before he rounded a corner and was taken by surprise. He had fallen victim to this in the past, floored by her smile or her eyes or, worse, her scent. Sara close to him was devastating. A living, breathing, intoxicating reminder of all he could not have. He now tried not to let it happen. They were getting on so easily lately, and he knew he was likely to somehow misstep. He was so good at saying so little and meaning so much. He could come upon Sara in the hall and be breathless but look hounded. He could be struck dumb by her presence, by her words, by her intentions, but seem like he was looking for a way out. No more. He had made a conscious decision some time ago to try harder, to be a better friend to her, to not confuse her, to not disappoint her. But the mere sight of her could undo it all. Preparation was his best defence.

He found Sara at a computer, the green glare of the screen casting a slightly ethereal glow across her skin. He only looked for a second before speaking.

"Doc's got some information on our three john does." Sara looked up.

"Two."

"You got an ID?"

"Yeah, one of them had prints in CODIS. Matthew Harding. He's a mobile mechanic out in Henderson. Prior for possession. "

"You get an address?"

"The one on his driver's license is out of date. Brass is following up."

"Great." He paused, wondering why she wasn't moving. "You coming?"

Sara smiled to herself as she followed him out, grabbing her jacket as she went. This was precisely what she had missed in those years of turmoil, the years of game playing and missed shots and badly worded sentiments. She wished she could only remember the finer points. The few precious words he had said, mere seconds out of a lifetime in which she had, momentarily, felt adored. _Since I met you._ The gestures made that, in the face of a cold, professional exterior had alluded to the fact that there was so much more going on beneath the surface. The plant that she still had, in her apartment.

Instead, she remembered it all. The moments of clarity in which she had not feared rejection, the possibility of the other being too important an opportunity to miss. The words that had crushed her, that had sent her reeling back into herself, a shadowy recluse for weeks afterwards, angry at herself and at him. The way he had always made her take responsibility for them, so that it always had to be her exposed, asking, and him, closed, saying no.

She had her scars, but now she understood. It had to be that way. If he had asked, they would be together now, something that would threaten a lifetime's work for Grissom, the weight of which Sara had only recently come to appreciate. She had stopped looking on it as rejection and begun to see a bigger picture, one in which they had a place in the world that needed them to be just as they were – wedded to the job, sacrificing all else, committed beyond question. It was a way of life that Sara had always anticipated, wanted even, a desire that had only crumbled when she moved to Vegas.

She now knew that it was this quality they had first found attractive in one another, the absolute absorption of the science, the psychology, the criminology. Sara knew that she could only want a man who was this passionate about those things, and she also knew that any man who was would, like her, struggle to have a personal life. She had begun, slowly, painstakingly, to see them as silent warriors, fighting an often difficult but always worthy battle in defence of justice. Someone had to. She had never seen herself as someone to wait for the world to change. She wanted to be out there changing it, and she wanted to do that with Grissom. And if that meant damping down what was in her heart, then that was a price she'd have to pay.

The finer points of this resolution in the back of her mind, Sara got into Grissom's car. It smelt of him – aftershave and leather, and she allowed herself only a second to take this in. A small concession, she decided. She wasn't made of stone.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

The morgue was cool and quiet. Their voices seemed amplified within the cold walls. It always struck Sara how large the morgue was. Although she dealt with death every day she didn't often look at it in scale – the thought that the city needed a room this large to accommodate all its dead – was strange. Then she took in their three recent bodies lying side by side on stainless steel and remembered this was just the tip of the iceberg. Robbins wheeled one of them into the centre of the room, uncovering him as far as the Y incision. She recognised him as Matthew Harding, the one she had identified.

"So, what do you notice?" The Doctor asked.

"No visible injuries," Sara offered.

"Correct. Nothing at all on the exterior."

"And the interior?" Grissom asked.

"That's where it gets interesting. Multiple small fractures and internal bleeding."

"Where?" Sara looked at Grissom as she spoke. He looked as surprised as she felt.

"Everywhere."

"COD?" Grissom narrowed his eyes, thinking.

"Based on these findings, I'd guess some kind of blast."

"An explosion? That's impossible, he'd be bleeding, surely?" Sara asked.

"Not necessarily. If he wasn't near the centre of the explosion it's possible the blast alone killed him. Shockwaves, that kind of effect. You know in the London Blitz during World War Two a lot of bomb blast victims were found like this, virtually untouched."

"What about the other two?" Grissom was eyeing the corpses with new interest.

"One of them has a small fracture to the base of the skull that could be consistent with blunt force trauma, but inside he looks the same as this guy. Other than that, all three are the same."

"This just gets weirder and weirder," Sara said, shaking her head.

"Doesn't it." Grissom was nodding along with her.

"What is a mobile mechanic, and his two unidentified buddies, apparently killed by an explosion, doing lying dead in a parking lot in a pool of blood that isn't theirs?" She was saying it out loud as much for her own benefit as theirs, but it caught Robbins' interest.

"Have you identified the blood?"

"It's in the lab now." Right on cue, Sara's phone trilled. She unclipped it from her belt and flipped it open to read the alert from the lab.

"We got something." Grissom looked at her. "It's not theirs, but it is human, and it is in the system." He nodded again.

"Lets go."

He pulled open the heavy morgue doors and ushered her through, barely checking himself as he went to place a hand on the curve of her back. A natural thing to do, he told himself. I would have done that to anyone. He didn't have time to think further as his own phone rang. He answered with one hand as the other dug the keys for the Denali from his pocket. He was still talking as they approached the car, and Sara automatically held out her hand for the keys. He opened his palm and she took them, just stopping her hand from lingering in his any longer than was strictly necessary. A natural thing to do, she reassured herself. He won't have noticed.

They got into the car and Sara started the engine. As she shifted into gear and turned her head to reverse out of the lot, she caught his eye. He smiled, still listening to whoever was on the phone. She looked away quickly, making no more of it, sure she had got away with it. Small pleasures, she told herself, were absolutely okay.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that. _

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

Grissom stepped out into the morning sun twelve hours later, wearing a different shirt but the same case. He had been home just briefly, to shower and change. He often did this at the lab, but knew that if he didn't go home he had no chance of Sara doing so. She needed little persuasion to pull doubles or even on occasion triples. He knew he set double standards on this, but what she did not know would never hurt, he surmised, returning to work as soon as was reasonably possible, figuring he could be at his desk for hours and pretend he'd just got in.

Their case had appeared to be breaking the day before when the lab had identified the owner of the seven pints of blood they had recovered from the scene. They had gone to the woman's address, firing on all cylinders, expecting to recover a dead or dying victim, and had instead found a perfectly healthy Violet Redout who, although shocked to see them there, was very happy to welcome them in and show them some ID. It was only once they had established that she was in fact _not_ missing seven pints of blood that Violet mentioned her regular trips to the bloodbank.

"Hoarding blood? That's a new one on me," Sara had said as they left Violet's white picketed front driveway.

"Perfectly in keeping with a case in which virtually nothing makes any sense," Grissom quipped, shaking his head. Sara sighed, half fatigue, half frustration.

"I need coffee."

Grissom had driven them back to the lab, noting the surprise on Sara's face when he had pulled in at a Starbucks a few blocks away.

"You wanted coffee, " he reminded her.

"Yeah… but .. I could have just got some at the lab." Grissom smiled, shrugged, knowing exactly what she had meant.

"Now that we're here.."

"Yeah, sure." Sara unbuckled her seatbelt, just a little touched that he had made the stop for her. "You want some?"

"Please," he replied, not even contemplating giving her an order, knowing that she knew exactly how he took his coffee. It was the benefit of working nights, with frequent need for caffeine. He could have made the perfect cup of coffee for any member of the team.

And so, refuelled, they had returned to the lab, ready to embark upon a sweep of all the local blood banks – conveniently, Violet Redout had used more than one – only to find that, as it was past five, they were all closed for the night. It was then that Grissom raised the unthinkable – that after only a shift-and-a-half, a veritable vacation, they ought to go home.

This morning, after an actual night of sleep, Grissom felt good. It was unseasonably warm, and he rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbow before starting the car. It was before seven, and he enjoyed the yellowy calm of the pre-rush hour roads. He swung into the lab parking lot already thinking about the day ahead. It wasn't until he was locking up that he realised he had parked next to Sara's car. He couldn't help but smile.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

Sara was hiding. She had parked, so she thought, inconspicuously at the end of the lot, where Grissom might not necessarily see her car. She had worked quietly in the layout room with the crime scene photographs and was now in a corner of the breakout room on a low chair, trying to chase relatives of Matthew Harding on her cell. She wasn't getting anywhere.

The previous day had ended all too soon for her. She had been in mid flow, work wise. She hated to go home at a reasonable hour. She now in fact relished the irregular hours she kept, hours which showed her the side of the city not many others got to see. She loved the way work made the dark seem good, productive, instead of something to be feared, foreseeing lack of sleep or restless dreams.

She had let herself reluctantly in to her apartment at five thirty, still clutching the slowly cooling Starbucks cup. She placed it on the kitchen counter and stared at it for a long moment, thinking, remembering how Grissom had grinned as he had pulled into that lot. Then she showered, and attempted sleep, and when she rose far too early the cup was still sitting there, trying to tell her something.

The morning sun that usually chased her home set her up for the day, prompting her to adopt short sleeves, to wash and dry her hair and put on her favourite sunglasses. She felt fresh, and strangely buoyant for the second day in a row.

Her cell phone rang, unbearably loud in the quiet lab. Before she could pick up she heard his voice. It stopped ringing then, and she knew the game was up.

"I knew it."

"Good morning to you too," she smiled. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his familiar forearms. In spite of herself, something stirred.

"Sara, it's seven am."

"And yet here _you _are." He could scarcely argue with that. Sara stood and passed him the file she was holding.

"Addresses for the blood banks Violet used. First one opens in thirty minutes. You can drive." She strode out past him, and involuntarily he took in the just-showered scent of her. Damn. Bad start to the day. When they reached the front entrance of the lab, Sara pulled down her sunglasses from where they were sitting on her head. Grissom looked, and knew then that on this particular day, he was going to struggle.

The first blood bank proved fruitless, but the second turned up a slightly unhinged care assistant with an interesting twitch who spoke at length about an ex-colleague who had 'abused the system'. Getting said assistant to elucidate or elaborate proved impossible, and so they persuaded a manager to print a list of past employees. The assistant pointed to the name Harry Fields, and then retreated into her crazy little shell once more.

Returning to the car, Sara radioed the lab and asked Greg, who was just finishing the night shift, to run the name. She greeted Grissom with a triumphant smile as he got back in the driver's seat.

"You'll never guess."

"Then tell me."

"Harry Fields, in the DMV database. No DNA on file, but get this, his photo matches one of our remaining john does."

"Call Brass."

"Done. He's meeting us there." He rolled his eyes in mock irritation, not minding at all that she was forging ahead. She was carrying the ball over the line, and he knew how much she loved it.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

Unsurprisingly, Harry Fields' house was empty. A large, sprawling wooden house at the end of a long red-dust drive a few miles from Red Rock, crumbling out buildings all around, it was old-time Vegas at its best. Sara could feel the dust in her lungs as soon as they stepped out of the car. Brass came out of the front door, indicating that the house was clear.

"All yours. I'll leave a uniform on the driveway."

"Thanks," Sara called after him, as she went in, finding that it was hotter inside than out. Taking a good look round, Sara was taken not just by the lack of evidence, but by the general lack of _anything_. The house was dusty, tired, and very sparsely furnished. A few wooden rockers, a dining table six inches thick with old newspapers, and an old formica kitchen that hadn't hosted any dinner parties for eight any time recently. She counted five mugs, a handful of mis-matched plates, and little else. Mentally she ran through what she could see, photographing as she went. Cat bowls, no cat. No fresh or perishable food in the fridge. Threadbare rug, empty fireplace. Upstairs she found three empty rooms and one containing a metal framed bed with a shabby lace comforter. One closet, one chest. Back downstairs she catalogued what wasn't there. No television, no radio, no computer, one phone, no dial tone. Moving through the living area she tried the side door and found it locked. Looking to either side of her, she spotted a rusty key on the sill. Something else, too. .

Grissom was conducting a search of the carport when Sara appeared from the side door of the house.

"Anything?" He asked.

"Something," she replied, holding up what she had bagged, a dog-eared business card.

"Matthew Harding, Mobile Mechanic."

"So… what? This guy squirrels away donated blood over a period of months, then somehow he and his _mechanic_ end up covered in it?"

"I know," Sara shook her head at the nonsense of it all. "Did you find anything?"

"No…." Grissom stopped, cocking his head to one side, holding up a hand. "Do you hear that?"

"No, what?"

Slowly, Grissom lifted the hood of the old Buick beside them. Sara didn't see it right away, and asked again.

"What?" Grissom was white.

"How fast can you run?" he asked, lowering the hood carefully.

"Why?"

"Go!" He cried, turning for the door, dragging her behind him. Somewhere between the door and the daylight it dawned on her what they were running from.

They had not gone twenty yards when the car exploded. They hit the dry ground hard, instinctively covering their faces with their arms until the pieces ceased to fall. After a few moments, Sara raised her body tentatively from the dirt, only to feel Grissom's arm slide around her and pull her back down. He held her down, protectively, urgently, as a second explosion rang out, sending up a new cloud of dust and debris. This time Sara didn't move until he did, lifting his head to see the police officer on the drive backing his car away, radio in hand.

"There might be more," he warned, his face just inches from hers, "just stay down." Sara nodded. He had only counted two, but he _had_ been in a rush.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, picking a large splinter of wood from her hair.

"I don't think so. You?"

"No. " His hand was on her face, brushing it clean, checking for injury. She stilled his hand with her own.

"I'm fine, really." He nodded, slowly, aware that their hands were touching, that she was holding his, that they were closer than they had ever been.

Realising that he needed to put some distance between them, Grissom pulled himself up onto his knees, knowing that he was going to hurt tomorrow. He could feel a trickle of blood somewhere on his calf. He reached down and offered Sara his hand.

Sara let Grissom pull her upright out of the dust. She brushed herself down as best she could, feeling a bruise beginning to form on her hip.

"So, I guess we found a link between Harry Fields and explosives?" She quipped, and they began to make their way down the drive towards the police car. Sara stumbled, and felt Grissom's arm snake around her waist once more.

"I'm fine," she said, instinctively. He waved her words away, and held onto her as they shuffled through the dirt. She was torn between asserting her strength and independence and the warmth that spread through her at his touch. Half way down, she resolved that it couldn't hurt to let herself have this moment. It was reasonable for him to help her, reasonable for her to need help. What was less reasonable was how much she liked it.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

"I can't take you two anywhere," Brass was smiling as he came towards them. They had both showered at the lab this time, after being pronounced fine by the paramedic who had attended the scene. Secretly they both had a few aches, and no shortage of cuts and scrapes. Brass looked them up and down. Sara crossed her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow in mock derision.

"So when you said the scene was clear, you meant, clear, but watch out for the two pounds of C4 in the garage?" She teased.

"Yeah, didn't I mention that?" Brass winked at her.

"What else do we have?" Grissom asked.

"You're gonna love this. Matthew Harding's last known address is a place belonging to.." He checked his notebook, "A Melanie Wilson."

"Do we know her?" Grissom asked.

"You have a friend in common, you could say. Wilson's her maiden name. Until last year she was Melanie Fields."

"Harry Fields' wife?" Sara's mouth fell open.

"Ex wife. They divorced, citing irreconcilable differences, so the record says. But according to Melanie, she left him for Matthew."

"And people say romance is dead, " Sara shook her head. Grissom took the file Brass offered.

"It is now."

Melanie Wilson wasn't talking. Grissom went to the observation room while Sara went into the interview room with Brass. Melanie smirked as she saw Sara.

"I take it you've been to Harry's place."

That was the most conversation Melanie was willing to have, claiming ignorance to every question Sara levelled at her. Grissom watched as Sara's frustration grew. It was, he noted, imperceptible these days, to the naked eye anyway. He could always tell. She hated obstacles, and she loved breaking them down. His eyes took her in slowly, taking advantage of a rare chance to observe without being observed. She knew he was there, of course, but she would never expect him to be doing this. That knowledge made it all the more enjoyable, and all the more allowable, he told himself. She doesn't _know_ you are looking at her, therefore she cannot draw any particular conclusion from the fact that you are. The perfect crime.

Only now was Grissom processing the proximity in which they had found themselves when the car had exploded. It had been purely instinct that had made him grab her hand and run. Only training that had sent him to the ground with her and made him keep her there. What had made him stroke the red dust from her cheek, or tease the shrapnel from her hair, was something else altogether. Something that he was avoiding quantifying.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: _Thanks for the reviews I've had so far - they're all much appreciated. To let you know... this story is complete, but I don't want to ruin it by posting it all at once - but I promise not to make you wait too long. Just some editing etc to be done to the last few chapters. Please keep reading - reviews are like GSR - smile enducing... :)_

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. Come on, you know you want to._

"So you're telling me that you last saw Matthew Harding seven days ago when he left for a business conference. What kind of business is he in? Because I was under the impression that he was a mechanic." Sara was struggling to get a useful word out of this woman. She could feel herself heating up a little, beginning to get a handle on this extraordinary case, not willing to let Melanie Wilson's questionable story get in her way. Melanie was smiling in a way that made Sara's skin crawl.

"It was a _mechanic's_ conference."

Sara mentally butted her head on the table. She glanced over at the two way mirror, knowing Grissom was behind it. He had declined to join them, thinking that as this woman was the only _living_ lead they had, some observation of her behaviour might serve them better. Sara was reluctant to admit that she liked having the floor. Partly because she loved to think on her feet, calculating evidence and testimony as it was presented. Partly, she knew, because a little part of her was thrilled at the idea of Grissom watching her. She wanted him to see her ability, to know her capable of handling these situations, to see how her professionalism had grown since her earlier days. But deeper than that, on a very base level, was something bordering on voyeuristic. The thought of his eyes on her turned her on.

When the interview was over, Brass escorted Melanie out, and Grissom joined Sara in the interview room.

"She's lying."

"I know."

"Did you ever hear of a mechanic attending a conference?"

"I know. I don't know what she has to do with it. But we've got a warrant for her house. And this gives us context. We thought Harry Fields had Matthew's business card because he used his services. What if he had it to enable him to _find_ Matthew, the guy who, as far as he was concerned, stole his wife?"

"Is it any coincidence that the explosives at Harry Fields' place were wired to a car?"

"Possible lure for Matthew Harding. "

"Okay, so Fields lures Harding to his house to fix his car, planning on blowing him up… how do they then both end up dead, and who's the third guy?"

"If Harding is a love rival, maybe the other guy is too. "

"Well we know that Fields liked to make bombs, so maybe the plan was to get Harding and john doe number three together and do away with them both. "

"Only it didn't work out."

"Right."

Sara rubbed her brow, fighting the advancing headache she could feel. It was all just on the _brink_ of making sense. She couldn't see the whole picture yet.

"Where to now?" She asked.

"Back to the bodies," Grissom said, rising from his chair. She nodded, following. He opened the door and stood in front of it, holding it at bay with his body. There was just enough room for Sara to slip through in front of him, but not without passing within a breath of him. She wondered at this. _Why would he..?_ She forced the notion from her mind quickly, along with one that was telling her she was getting progressively worse at keeping her resolutions where Grissom was concerned.

Grissom followed, sure that his involuntary gesture had gone unnoticed.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

Things began to speed up. Taking a second painstaking sweep of the third john doe paid off, and yielded a trace substance that they were able to identify as a particular brand of flour, which, after a few tries, lead them to a bakery off the Strip. There they found a rather frazzled manager missing one of his regular staff – a man fitting john doe's description that the manager identified as Eric Kidd. They still couldn't identify a correlation between Kidd and the other two, but the manager gave them Kidd's last known address. They stood in the bakery parking lot while Grissom radioed Brass to ask for a unit to meet them there.

There they found nothing. An empty house, perfectly in order, devoid of anything out of the ordinary. Stifled again, Sara leant against the Denali, needing some air to aid her thinking.

"Alright. Talk this out with me. " Grissom nodded.

"Harry Fields is unemployed. Matthew Harding fixes cars. Eric Kidd is a baker. No obvious connection. Fields used to be married to Melanie Wilson who is now the girlfriend of Harding – clear link. Fields can make bombs, he has an old car in his garage, possible connection to Harding. "

"The crux of it is Fields. It has to be. He's the only one who makes bombs, as far as we know, and he must have had a grudge against Harding. My money's on him."

"But where does Kidd fit in?"

"Wrong place, wrong time?"

Sara looked over the sheet the manager had pulled from his file, an employee profile filled out by Eric Kidd. Glancing down it once nothing struck her. The second time, however…

"Hey," she said, abruptly.

"What?"

"Eric Kidd has an emergency contact listed." Grissom raised his eyebrows in anticipation of what came next.

"It's Melanie Wilson."

They stared at one another.

"I'm going back into the house." Grissom was striding away before she could say anything else, kit in hand. Inside, he assembled the ALS and nodded to her to hit the lights. She pulled back the bed sheets as he worked the light methodically over the mattress. There in the centre lay their quarry – not one but two samples. Sara collected those while Grissom went over the rest of the bedroom.

"The rest of it's clean." Grissom announced.

"Well, this should determine if Melanie Wilson has had her finger in the third pie." He grinned at her phraseology.

"A three.. _pie_.. problem. You might say." Sara lowered her protective glasses and dropped the samples into her kit.

"_You_ might say, Sherlock."


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

Sara went to the break room and waited for the results of the samples she had taken at the house, feeling her bruises really begin to take shape. She knew that she needed to go home, to shower, to rest her aching limbs and to _eat_, but she couldn't entertain the thought of dropping a hot case, if only for a couple of hours.

She made coffee, and drank a whole cup before pouring two more. She took them both down to Grissom's office where he was looking over the crime scene photographs.

"Here." He looked up as she placed the coffee on the desk.

"Thanks."

"Nothing yet." She said, anticipating his question. I've told Hodges to page me _and_ to yell."

"Patience is a virtue," he quipped, a little sideways smile forming. Sara knew he hadn't meant it, but she was tired, and sore, and it stung.

"You don't think I'm patient?" It came out sharper than she had intended, but once said, she decided to stand by it. How many years had it been, until this recent ceasefire? Four? Five? More, since they had met two years prior to her move to Vegas. _Pathetic_, she thought. Had his hands not been on her face this morning, had his breath not mixed with hers, had his body not pressed down on her in an overwhelmingly intimate (and yet just inside the remit of professional) way, had he not _insisted_ on keeping his arm around her, she might have said nothing more.

"It's a proverb, Sara." She knew that.

"I think there's a lot of things I'm not, but patient? Give me a break." She was only half joking, and he couldn't read her expression. _There it is_, Grissom thought, as his heart sank. He had done it, screwed things up. She was right. She _was_ patient. She had waited with neither promise nor hope for years, with barely a word spoken of it. _Amazing_, he thought.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean… anything." Sara nodded, not wanting to create a scene, or ruin the atmosphere she had been enjoying so much lately. She turned to go, thinking the quicker she got out of there the more chance she had of letting this moment go and rebuilding her resolve. But he had other ideas.

"Sara, wait." He stood behind the desk, started to say something else. She put out a hand to quiet him, and said, calmly,

"Have you noticed that it always comes back to this?" His brow furrowed. She held onto the door jamb, half out of the door, ready to leave him with one last thought. Her voice softened. "Why do you think that is?"

She turned, and walked back down the hall to the break room, feeling slightly agitated but too tired to think much harder about it. A little harsh, or perplexing, maybe, but he would get over it. _She_ always had.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

Hodges exploded out of the lab doorway in front of her, arm raised, beckoning furiously, like the cat that got the cream, reminding her how much she disliked him.

"Where's the boss?" Sara took a sip of her coffee.

"Page him." She wasn't bitter, but she also wasn't about to trip back down to his office acting as though nothing had happened. Besides, Hodges liked nothing more than to kiss ass. Especially Grissom's.

"I'm here, what have you got?" He _was_ there, had approached without either of them noticing. He must have followed her, she realised blankly as she focused her energy on the paper printing from Hodges' machine.

"The two samples you took from Eric Kidd's house. One's his, of course.."

"And the other one's Melanie Wilson's?" Grissom hedged.

"No," Hodges was smiling, delaying dealing the final blow. Now Sara _was_ impatient.

"I'm not into delayed gratification, Hodges." Grissom did react, but without obviously scanning his face and awaking in Hodges a whole new curiosity, she could only register the sharp intake of breath.

"Not only is it not Melanie Wilson's, but it's not even female."

"Did you get an ID?"

"Yep." Hodges was beaming. "It's weird."

"Hodges!"

"It's Matthew Harding."

Sara and Grissom looked at each other, all memory of the preceding ten minutes vanishing with the sheer incongruity of the case.

Fifteen minutes later the crime scene photographs, retrieved from Grissom's office, were pegged on the glass wall of the layout room. Sara, arms folded, paced up and down, taking them in, thinking. Grissom sat at the table, notebook and pen before him, charting the links.

"I think I'm starting to get my head around this, " he said, taking off his glasses and pinching the indentation they left on his nose.

"Harry and Melanie were married. Melanie leaves Harry for Matthew, who then takes up with Eric. Harry's got motive to want Matthew out of the way, but not Eric."

"So Harry makes a bomb to take out Matthew, and Eric's just collateral?"

"Possibly."

"That doesn't explain why Eric Kidd had Melanie as an emergency contact." She stared at the photographs a while longer.

"We know that Harry collected the blood, from the blood bank where he worked. Hoarded it up for months. It must have taken him a year, or more, to collect that amount, all from one person. We don't know why he did it, but he must have been doing it when he was married to Melanie," Sara said, "and that's a pretty weird hobby for your husband to have."

"Enough to make you look elsewhere?" Grissom shrugged.

"Maybe. He also made bombs," Sara pointed out.

"Suicide?" Sara shook her head. It didn't seem right.

"If Melanie lived with someone who could make a bomb, what are the chances that she could make one too?" Grissom asked. Sara's eyes narrowed.

"We thought the car bomb was Harry's doing, but what if it wasn't? What if Melanie laid that device in Harry's garage so that we would _think_ Harry had done it? Pointing the finger at him…" Grissom took up the end of her sentence and ran with it, smiling triumphantly;

"…And away from her."

"So, assuming she knew Eric Kidd somehow _before_ he and Matthew Harding took up together, both of them had betrayed her. " Grissom rose from his seat and stood next to her. Sara moved an inch further away for comfort. Damn him for still smelling so good this far into shift.

"Maybe this is about cleansing? Getting rid of your exes, and all the remnants of your life with them?" Sara suggested, turning to face the pictures on the wall. Grissom took down the three autopsy shots, re-arranging them one by one.

" A bad marriage, " he said, placing Harry Fields' photograph back on the wall to the far left, " a cheating boyfriend, " he stuck Matthew Harding's photo in the centre, " and the one he's cheating with," he said as he affixed the last photo, Eric Kidd, on the far right. The trio stared back at them.

"And I thought my love life was bad." Sara smiled, ruefully.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

The second time they interviewed her, Melanie was much more co-operative. Perhaps it was the ride in the squad car or the news that traces of explosives had been found in her house, but she found her tongue.

"Miss Wilson, we know that your boyfriend was having an affair with Eric Kidd." Sara began.

"Good for you."

"We also know that during your marriage to Harry Fields you had plenty of opportunity to learn how to build a bomb."

"You're kidding, right? I can't even change a flat."

"But you had your very own mobile mechanic for that, didn't you?" Sara pressed.

"And you do know _something_ about cars, " Grissom interjected. " Enough to wire one to explode."

"Harry made all the bombs. It was his hobby. I kept out of it."

"We have your prints, in semtex, in your house and on a part of the device we recovered from the car. We can connect you to all three victims. So you can either co-operate…" Sara was interrupted by an officer at the door of the interview room. He motioned for her and Grissom to step out. Reluctantly, they did.

"Sorry, sir, urgent message from CSI." He handed Grissom a fax page, asking him to call the lab. Sara shifted from foot to foot as he dialled. He wasn't on the line more than a minute before his expression changed entirely. He hung up, and turned to her.

"Your buddy Hodges?" Sara asked.

"Yeah. The first time I've ever been captivated with anything he's had to say."

"So?"

"We were wondering why Eric Kidd had Melanie Wilson listed as an emergency contact." Grissom looked triumphant.

"And?"

"Kidd isn't his real name. Or Wilson isn't hers. Hodges ran all the DNA from the case, seeing if anything popped up." The glint in his eye was damningly attractive. "They're brother and sister."

This time it was unspoken between Sara and Grissom that they would carry the ball over the line together. It took no more than ten minutes for Melanie Wilson to crack. She appealed first to Sara, then to the female officer who stood rigidly by the door of the interview room. Only a woman, she claimed, could know the burn of finding out your boyfriend was sleeping with your brother. Grissom assured her that finding that strange was a feeling that was most likely universal, but still didn't mitigate a triple homicide.

The rest came out in between bitter sobs. Her husband, Harry, had wired his entire property with explosives, booby-trapped to the hilt, ostensibly in case of intrusion but, she suspected, actually because he enjoyed it. Eric, her brother, had come back into her life recently after they were separated by divorce as children. She had gone with their father, he had gone with their mother, taking her new husband's name. Melanie had no idea Eric was gay until she had discovered he was sleeping with Matthew. She had gone to Harry, told him that Matthew and Eric had committed the unforgiveable, and, eager to get his estranged wife back, Harry had called for a mechanic. Melanie knew that on his days off Eric rode shotgun with Matthew, helped him with bigger jobs. Once they were on his property, Harry lured them to an out building, and that's where Melanie got lucky. Harry became the victim of his own device, blowing the flimsy outbuilding to smithereens, leaving Melanie to come by later and pick up not two but three dead men.

"Buy two, get the third free." Sara quipped, as Melanie dried her eyes on a ragged napkin, scowling at them all.

"There's just one thing we don't know," Grissom said, fixing Melanie with a look now more of intrigue than anything else, the admissions made. " Why the blood?"

Melanie curled her lip upwards in disgust.

"We know your ex husband kept a stock of it."

"Do you know _where_ he kept it?" Melanie shook her head, exhaling loudly. " Harry had a _special_ fridge, in the outbuilding that.. the one that blew up."

"A special fridge?"

"Harry was… sick. When we were married he used to keep it in _my_ fridge, in the kitchen, with the milk and the butter and.." she appeared to grimace at the memory. "We fought like cat and dog about it. I didn't want it in the house. Then the moment I moved out, he got a fridge out back. I swear he did it just to piss me off. "

"So, when the bomb that killed them went off…" Sara began, tailing off as her eyes met Grissom's. _No way. It was incidental?_

"Yep," Melanie said, gesturing with her hands, "red fountain."

"What did he collect it for in the first place?" Grissom asked.

"He used it to make his little _explosions_ more realistic," she said, her jaw set in absolute derision. "He just used to _play_ with it. Like a kid with poster paint." She watched Sara's eyes grow wide. "Try citing that as grounds for divorce."

Grissom was shaking his head.

"We found more blood at the scene than that accounts for. There was a large amount on the floor, too." Melanie looked up, and was still for a moment. Then she hung her head, briefly, and shrugged.

"There was still some in the fridge indoors. I just wanted rid of it. All of it. All of them."

"So you… emptied it over the bodies?" Melanie didn't answer Grissom's question, staring darkly at him. Sara looked from one to the other before she spoke.

"It's been the bane of your existence, hasn't it, Melanie? Your husband collected it. Your brother denied your blood when he took his step father's name and disappeared from your life. And then just when you thought you'd got him back, your boyfriend takes him away. Betraying the last blood tie you had. "

Grissom glanced at Sara, reminded briefly how brilliant she frequently was.

Melanie sniffed again, and looked at Sara, eyes black with anger. "It's supposed to be thicker than water."


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

" I just don't get people sometimes." Catherine shook her head, long strawberry blonde curls shimmering. Perfect, as pretty near always, Sara sighed. Half the time she wished she could groom and care about grooming like Catherine. The other half she was glad she didn't. She had to admit working with Catherine had rubbed off on her a little. She wore make up more often, and she had figured out a few things to do with her hair besides simple up or down. But she could still get up in the morning and spend less than ten minutes in front of a mirror and she thought that was the way it ought to be.

"Yeah, " Warrick added, screwing his face into an expression of disgust, "I mean, who keeps blood in their fridge?" He swung open his locker, shedding one shirt and replacing it with another.

"Apart from Grissom?" Greg made them laugh, as usual. He was perfecting his hairstyle in the tiny mirror. Sara enjoyed these moments, rare interludes in which they could all just _stop_, relax and share the days or nights they had just had. Sometimes she missed Grissom being at them, when he was not. Other times she was glad of a brief moment of respite from her uphill climb. The resolution that she knew she had to keep. Regardless of touching skin or warm breath or meaningful looks. Because so often those things were here today and gone tomorrow. And tomorrow she would still have to look him in the eye, and get through the day without succumbing to the sadness that had plagued her in all the years she had worked with him.

"Yeah, well, Grissom's… special," Catherine joked, shooting a raised eyebrow at Sara that the guys wouldn't see.

"Not arguing with that," Greg said, throwing a tub of hair putty into the back of his locker and closing it. "I'm going to Frank's. Nick's meeting me. Who's in?"

Warrick nodded, "I'm in," slipping a jacket over his well defined arms. Sara watched Catherine try not to look. _I guess no-one's made of stone_, she thought, suddenly feeling guilty for the point she had insisted on making to Grissom earlier. She could have, no, _should _have, let that one go. Deep down she knew he had meant nothing by it.

"Me too, " Catherine said, shouldering her handbag and looking at Sara, questioning.

"No thanks."

"Come on," Greg pleaded.

"No, really guys. I just worked a double and I'm exhausted. I need to go home." Catherine laughed.

"You might as well have said you were going shopping," she said, turning to go, "for all that I'll buy _that_."

Sara smiled and thought how nice it was, just sometimes, to be around people who knew her well. She collected her kit and her jacket and looked in the mirror long enough only to apply some chapstick and run her fingers through her hair.

As the trunk of her car clicked shut, Grissom emerged from the lab, heading for his. She watched him stride across the bright lot and made a decision.

"Hey." He turned as she approached, a light smile on his lips.

"Hey. Are you rushing off anywhere?" She found herself really hoping he wasn't, knowing she wanted to solve this here and now.

"No."

"Can we talk?" She waited for panic to appear in his eyes. Instead, he tilted his head in mild surprise, but no more, no less.

"Sure." He leant against the car, one arm holding the open driver's door.

"Somewhere other than here? I just need to get away from work. Thought maybe we could get some coffee." She breathed steadily, having made it through the hardest part – the mere suggestion of socialising outside of work usually threw up all kinds of walls. Not today. Perhaps it was the easiness in her expression, or perhaps he genuinely needed coffee, but Grissom wasn't looking uncomfortable at her request and she wasn't feeling at all worried about having made it.

"Okay." His face remained open, betraying none of the intermittent thrills and chills that were running up and down his spine.

"And the guys are all at Franks, so.. how about that place we stopped at the other day? That's not too far." The chills intensified as Grissom took note of her willingness to return to any moment they had previously shared, not to mention a place they had been, alone, together. He liked the thought of recreating it. Making the place theirs.

"Sure. " She smiled at his simple answer, and turned back towards her car.

" I'll meet you there."

Grissom watched Sara walk back up the lot to her car, wondering why she hadn't just got in his. He could see something on her mind and was wary of it being something else he would have to summon all his resolve to say no to.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

He pulled into the Starbucks behind her and parked beside her, way down the lot as was Sara's habit. She hated to be right outside the door. He had never fathomed why. Sara bought the coffees, and set them both down on a small table in the corner of the near deserted coffee house. She took a deep breath.

"I just wanted to talk to you, outside of work, you know. I want to say sorry. For the way I spoke to you earlier. You didn't deserve that. I know, and I knew then, even, that you didn't mean it the way I took it."

Grissom was surprised. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but an apology certainly was not it.

"We.." he began, but she cut him off with a smile and went on.

"That's not all. I owe you more of an apology than just for today. I've said before that our relationship has been complicated, and I know that I've never helped matters. I want to put things right. I want us to put this behind us."

"It's forgotten already," he said, smiling, and she could tell he had not fully understood.

"I'm not just talking about today. I mean yes, I want to put that behind us, but I'm talking about the big picture here. I go around like this, getting snappy with you, punishing you, and I have to stop."

Grissom's head fell to one side as he looked to her for an explanation, growing slightly cold inside as her words began to make sense.

"I always thought I knew better, I thought we were supposed to… or that you'd get past it… but you've been trying to tell me all along. I should have listened to you years ago."

"Sara…I…" She reached across the table and put a hand over his, smiling warmly, peacefully.

"I know. You can't. I know." He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. A long sigh escaped his lips, and she withdrew her fingers from his.

"It's okay. I mean, if you can't you can't. I'm sorry. I've put you through it, wanting you to be something that you're not. I should have stopped when I heard you talking to that doctor."

"What doctor?"

"The suspect in the double homicide, with the nurse and the junior doctor. Remember?" Grissom racked his brains, and then there it was, staring him down like the barrel of a gun.

"Lurie?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah. I heard a bit of what you said to him. Just what I should have known all along. I should have taken it to heart then." His head became light, words and images flooding in, competing for precedence as he tried, _tried_ to think of something to say. _Butterflies… Blood….. I couldn't do it. _

"I didn't know you'd heard that." He was struggling to swallow. Maintaining the illusion of calm, he sipped his coffee, hands cold and dry.

"I know. I never said. It doesn't matter that I did. I just want you to know, I'm sorry. I can see I've been making things difficult for you." _The things you'll never know_, he thought.

"I've made things very difficult for myself." He conceded, shaking his head. Oh, how he had.

"Well lets agree that we've both struggled with.. .things." Sara's smile was wide, her manner easy. If he didn't know better he'd think there had never been a moment's tension between them.

"I wish you'd told me you heard that."

Grissom was frozen. How was it possible that this moment had arrived without him realising it? That her prophecy, this strong and beautiful woman's words, had come strikingly, painfully true? _By the time you figure it out, it really could be too late._

"Why? It doesn't make any difference. It's probably a good thing I heard it. Although even in spite of it, I kept.. oh, God, I really have no dignity do I?" She smirked at the memory.

"Sara.."

She carried on, regardless.

"The thing is… I .. always imagined, well I guess we all do, spending my life with someone, and I don't know if I ever thought about who that would be, but I know I haven't had a proper relationship since I met you. And what's that? Six, seven years?" She laughed again, a beautiful, beautiful sound. "But that's hardly your fault."

Grissom couldn't think quickly enough. She was saying things he had always hoped would never be true.

"Look, I won't take up any more of your time. I just.. needed to say this."

Sara went to stand but Grissom put his hand over her arm.

"What about the paramedic?" Sara stopped. He didn't know why he had said it, only that he had to say _something_ and that he had, from what little he'd seen and heard, assumed that _had_ been a relationship.

"Oh, Hank? Yeah, that worked out real well. He had another girlfriend, one he was actually serious about." Sara spoke of it with ease. _So long ago_, she thought, having long since made her peace with it. _Asshole. _.

Grissom nodded. "I see." Finishing her coffee, Sara stood.

"He did me a favour, actually. He knew, even if I didn't."

"Knew what?" Grissom looked up at her.

"That there's just no room. For anyone else." Pressing her hand down on Grissom's shoulder, Sara left him sitting there. It wasn't true, of course. Hank hadn't known anything except that he was getting his cake and eating it too. But it was something she wanted to say to Grissom and she was afraid of saying too much outright. This seemed like a softer way to deal what might, to a sensitive, love-wary, untouched entomologist, feel like blows.

Sara stepped off the kerb into the lot, seeing her car way down at the end where she had left it. She hated to park right outside anywhere. She liked to be unobserved. Her head and shoulders felt deliciously light as she went. She had said what she had gone there to say, and had kept her cool, and in fact carried it off with an air of dignity that did not belie her true feelings at all.

She wanted, no, needed this man in her life. And if she had to lie through her teeth to make things alright then she damn well would. She would feel sad, later, tonight when she was alone. But… _here today, gone tomorrow_, she reminded herself. She would get over this, and the air would be clear. All she had to do was make it to the car, drive away, and she was home dry.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: _Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

"Sara." She heard the door swing behind her, and realised with a flash of anxiety that he had followed her. She turned, maintaining the smile and the composure.

"I don't understand. What made you want to say all this now?" Sara sighed, still smiling. _Don't push it,_ she begged silently. _I am only so strong._

"I don't want there to be anything….bad between us."

"Right."

"..And.. you're very important to me… you know that…" She was faltering, just a little.

He nodded, and waited, expectant. She took a breath, and looked him deep in the eye. His gaze neither wavered nor shrank from hers. He was there with her, and it took her aback. She felt the smallest gleam of a tear forming in her lashes, but felt sure that he couldn't see it. She inhaled again, and told him the greatest truth, followed by the greatest lie.

"I just feel like I've spent my life with you. Like this, I don't know. Like just to one side of you. I can't do it anymore."

He thought he saw her lashes glisten with a tear, but couldn't be sure. Her words burned him deeply. They had, _God, they had, _he thought, spent so much of their lives together. The tear fell, unaccompanied, to the ground, and he looked at it on the dry tarmac. There it was, the chink in her armour. The flaw in the plan, the light at the end of a very long, very cold tunnel that they had both, metaphorically and otherwise, been wading through for far too long. Grissom latched onto it and did not, could not, let go.

"Sara… for the record, what you heard me say to that suspect wasn't true. I mean, it was partly true. But actually I'd have said just about anything, I was trying to get the guy to confess to a double homicide."

Sara said nothing, so he went on.

"I was chastising him. Chastising myself. For not being able to come to terms with the situation."

"That it's too hard, with work, yeah, I got it." Sara answered for him. He looked at her with a sly smile.

"That may be what you've been coming to terms with. For me it was the idea that I could actually have one without losing the other. Without having to choose. It's something I like to think I've gotten better and better at."

Her throat had closed up entirely, leaving her barely able to breathe. She knew she had precious little time to get out of there. Sara smiled, one last time, and patted his chest, smoothing down a faint crease in his shirt, the vow she had made to herself thundering through her mind.

"Grissom… I think we both know it was never going to work out between us. We've had five years seeing each other every day, that's so much time to make things right. And we've never managed it. And I think it's time to let go."

This time she made it to her car before he could stop her, and before the tears fell.

She turned left out of the lot and he turned right. She circled the block and drove right back into the same spot, at the far end of the now dark lot. She stopped the car, slid the shift into park and let out a long breath. She placed a hand over her mouth, long, slender fingers beating a slow pattern on her cold lips. She let her teeth slide across her bottom lip, holding it in momentarily, calming, slowing, the beating of her breaking heart.

She didn't honestly know whether to laugh or cry. There were tears, and the sounds of her voice, small, punctuated gasps recalling the scene she had played far too well. She wasn't weeping, but beset by the greatest emotion she had ever felt. It was a catharsis, a relief flooding through her tired body, still aching with the bruises from the explosion and the motion of Grissom's arms tugging her to the ground, to him, to safety.

She let out a low laugh, unable to believe what she had just pulled off, amazed that she had managed it and afraid that she had made a huge mistake. She had felt like it was her turn. He had spent a long time trying to protect himself, them both, from possible harm at the mercy of their romantic selves. She owed him one, at least, even if it was a debt it had hurt her to pay.

Both hands closed loosely over her mouth, stilling her little sobs. She ran them through her hair, down her face and down her arms, reminding herself that she was okay, she would be fine. She laughed again, softly, her cheeks wet and glistening in the lamplight of the quiet lot. She had never felt so whole or so broken, so empty or so over-full.

_So this is love_, she thought, as she started the car.

_Okay – there are at least three more chapters to come – possibly more! Will try to get them up this week. _


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: _Okay people, here we go!! The rest of the story is posted now -for your reading pleasure._ _Thank you for so many reviews – I love reading them, and they really do register with me, I take note. So here's the rest – it is complete now. Some of these chapters are much longer than the previous ones, because I was getting into having far too many and thought it might be easier to combine some._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

Sara wasn't sure how long she had lain awake, or how many times she had re-hashed their conversation, but she was very sure she had not, even briefly, closed her eyes. This was why she hated sleeping at night. She had tried getting up, exhausting herself with trivialities like vacuuming and re-arranging the journals on her shelf so that they were in date order. She had even made herself a pretty elaborate (for her) meal, but had eaten less than half of it. She had tried to act like everything was fine. But it quite simply was not._This is what you asked for. To have a normal life, to close that book. It's closed. Nothing standing in the way of you being fine now. So what the hell is the matter?_

She sighed out loud, stretching, and rolling over to try sleeping on the other side. Eventually she got up, ran a bath and made some tea, resigning herself to a long soak and at least a good start to the day even if the last one had ended badly, or not at all.She enjoyed the feel of the hot water on her tired limbs, and noted where she was still sore from the explosion. She ached, but even though she could pinpoint all the areas that hurt, there was still a deeper, duller ache somewhere she couldn't locate. She let the hot water run over her chest and shoulders, soothing but not soothing enough. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes and hurt from the inside out, quietly.

When she got out of the bath, it was still not light. She didn't look at the clock but she guessed one, maybe two am. It was only when her pager sounded that she realised it was earlier than that. She read it gratefully, glad of something to do, to take her out of her home and her head where all she could find was him.Brass. 419. Everyone else on a case. She smiled. Perfect. It would occupy her mind, but not involve Grissom, who she knew also had the night off. And although a small pang began as she thought of working with anyone else, she knew the last vestige of strength she had would, at that moment, not survive seeing his face.

She followed Brass' directions to the facility where the body had been found, and drew up outside what she could only describe as Fort Knox. The rain that had begun to fall on the way now drove in sheets against the low building. She got out, pulling her vest closer around her, flimsy protection from the weather. She made it to the porch of the front entrance, where she found Brass.

"Hey, Sara. Thanks for coming out."

"You picked a nice night," she smiled, " what happened here?"

"Male DB, one of the inmates. Its a secure facility so I won't know much more til we get in there."

"Desert State is a Mental Hospital, right?" Sara had heard of it, but never seen it. The rain had obscured any signage there may have been on the drive in. Brass nodded.

"What are we waiting for?" Sara asked.

"Grissom." Brass replied.

_Oh._ That was her first reaction. The second was physical, a mild churning in her stomach that she could only reasonably describe as nerves. The feeling didn't leave her as they walked into the building, and when she was asked to take off her vest she felt stripped of her only protection. She was cold without it, and felt the shiver ascend up her spine when, moments later, she was told to get her back against the wall.

The atmosphere between them was hardly frosty. It was a jumble of nerves and thoughts and intentions. Grissom now and again shot her a look which she couldn't read, but his voice was soft and calm. Sara, for her part, tried to make her hands and mind collaborate and work without thinking about him or what they had left behind in the dark lot the night before. Not even the night before. Not even eight hours ago. She was on edge, but it didn't take long for her to realise that Grissom was reading this as a result of where they were. _Of course_, she thought, remembering their affronting discussion earlier that month. He knew about her parents and that she'd been in the social care system. He knew what happened to women who killed their husbands, and it wouldn't have been a stretch for him to imagine Sara had seen the inside of a place like this before. Sara tried hard to focus, to ignore their surroundings and to concentrate on the evidence. It was sometimes all she had.

_Oh_. That was Grissom's first reaction, when he realised Brass had paged Sara too. He was glad he had an excuse to see her again so soon, as he had spent the last eight hours tossing and turning wondering what on earth had passed between them outside the coffee house. His second reaction was to feel nervous, and to wish that Brass wasn't there. For some reason he could feel he and Sara approaching a state of affairs to which it just wasn't desirable for anyone else to be privy. He was unable to figure out what he meant by that before they were ushered into the cold, clinical darkness of the institution, and as they pressed their backs against the wall he wondered if this was a good place for Sara to be.

She had had enough darkness in her life, he thought, as they reached the primary crime scene. He was aware of Sara shivering, and wished they were somewhere else, that things were somehow different, that life hadn't forever equalled work and that he hadn't let slide what was most important for that many years that it now cornered him in every quiet moment, every scene where his mind ought to be sharp, every dream where he ought to be restful. He looked at her, trying to exude a kind of warmth and understanding that might put her at ease. She didn't look back, but he noticed her eyes flicker towards their corners, as though acknowledging the gesture. Grissom tried hard to focus, to take in their surroundings and build the picture. It was, at that moment, all he knew he could do.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: _Thank you for so many reviews – I love reading them, and they really do register with me, I take note. So here's the rest – it is complete now. Some of these chapters are much longer than the previous ones, because I was getting into having far too many and thought it might be easier to combine some._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

Sara's heart heaved in her chest as she beat her fists on the grate, releasing anger and fear and emotion that she had held in for so long. Feelings that she had suppressed and denied dealing with, only to have them jolted into the _must do today _pile by the cold, sharp pressure against her throat. She had thought the movement behind her was Grissom. She had assumed it was, because she had wanted it to be. Because, she now saw, she had gradually relaxed into his company again, and, as he had left her alone to find a key for that drawer, she had actually missed him.

She had let her guard down when interviewing Adam Trent because she had been so enjoying the chase. She had missed the way he was looking at her, because she had been looking at Grissom, sharing with him the sense of satisfaction and shock that came with firm answers. _He didn't do it_. She forgot, in that moment, that he was a rapist, and that she was a woman in a facility full of men.

She had not admitted to herself that she felt unsafe in this place.

She had not admitted to herself that his being there made her feel safer.

She had not admitted to herself that she had wanted him to fight for her last night, to stop her and tell her _no, I don't believe you.__And now he's seen that fear in my eyes._

Grissom watched her throw her fists against the metal and thought for the hundredth time how beautiful she was. He watched the way the fabric of her sweater stretched around her arms as she lifted them, and how it sagged, with her shoulders, as she sank back down. For as Adam Trent had held her, she had struggled, and looking into her eyes he had read what was there. _I want to live. There's more to say._ And she had read what lay in his eyes, too. _You can't go. There's so much you need to know._He had hated the way Adam Trent looked at her, and couldn't bring himself to care if he lived or died. He knew what the man was and what he would have done to Sara if he could.

He had felt protective of her since the moment they had walked into this place, but hadn't wanted to crowd her. He had felt suspicious that Sara was putting on an act last night, but only now did he understand why. All her life she had had to protect herself from things like this. So many and so much had threatened her, and nothing had saved her. No mother, father, friend or lover had ever put themselves on the line for her. When he had returned to the nurses station and found that door locked he could have kicked the damn thing down just to get to her. But last night he had just let her go.

He stood perfectly still, and watched, knowing that things would never be the same again. Sara turned, her breathing levelling out, to see Grissom watching her. He made no secret of it, his brows furrowed, his eyes dark. She took a few steps towards him, nodding that she was alright. She reached where he stood and leant back against the wall, waiting for her hands to stop trembling. They spoke in low tones for a few moments, heads close on the white wall, intimate in the dim light of the hall, a quiet moment in contrast to the chaos that still reigned in the nurses station.

When Nurse McKay stepped forward, Sara assumed she was coming to check on her wellbeing, and almost smiled. When instead she threw accusations of blame, she was shocked. _Start as you mean to go on,_ Grissom thought, stepping up to his full height and standing just an inch in front of Sara.

"_Really?_" He shot back acidly, when the nurse announced that this was, in fact, all _their_ fault. It came so naturally, defending Sara, and he took a certain kind of pleasure in venting some of his own fear and anger on the person who they suspected had something more to do with this case than just working there.At his tone, Sara came to life. She was surprised and just a little pleased to hear Grissom jump to her defence. She found the strength to begin questioning the nurse.Suddenly, they were a team again. And somehow, even though they were now emotionally entwined in a way they could neither deny nor explain, they stood, shoulder to shoulder, doing just what they were born to do.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: _Thank you for so many reviews – I love reading them, and they really do register with me, I take note. So here's the rest – it is complete now. Some of these chapters are much longer than the previous ones, because I was getting into having far too many and thought it might be easier to combine some._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine_

As Sara stood in the observation room, she watched the nurse, mother and lover through the two way glass, sad and sickened as she so frequently was in this room. She could feel the sting of the shallow cut on her neck, and found she was unable to pity the woman who had brought into this world a man who could do that, and more.Grissom had been beside her until a few moments ago, and she looked over at the space where he had stood. She looked back at the nurse as she was cuffed and taken away. When she turned her head again, he was back, at her side.

"I thought you'd gone," she said, quietly, still looking straight ahead.

"No."She nodded slowly. He very gently slipped his hand around her elbow.

"You.. uh.. want to get out of here?" She didn't look at him. She took a moment to consider all the reasons why she shouldn't and couldn't, and then smiled.

"Yes," she said, softly.

Later, Sara would sheepishly recollect thinking that by this comment Grissom had intended merely to drive her home. After driving for a few minutes she thought he was going the long way. When he got on the freeway she realised she had no idea where they were going. There was something curious about the silence between them that made her not want to ask, or, rather, not mind at all wherever they might end up.

As they drove, the rain began to subside until it was just a light mist on the windshield. The radio was on, very low, and Sara could just make out the gentle hum of a slow song. The world outside was grey and cold – inside was definitely warm and dry.

When the car swung off to the right she recognised where they were. She hadn't been to Red Rock since she had first come to Vegas, excepting work related visits, which weren't frequent. She was reminded that all this was on her doorstep, peace and beauty whenever she needed it. And she did need it, she thought, feeling the past few days beginning to catch up with her.

Grissom didn't look at her until they turned off the main road, cruising slowly towards the entrance to the loop. She hadn't yet asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, and he took this to be a good sign. He drew up ten yards or so from the ticket booth, and finally turned his head.

"Do you mind?"

"Mind?"

"Once we go in, it's thirteen miles one way." Sara smiled, the sideways smirk, the one that so very nearly sent him over some kind of edge whenever he saw it.

"No turning back, you mean?" He nodded, smiled himself.

"No," he replied, smiling himself, taking her playful look as assent.

"I come here sometimes, when I need to get away from the city." Grissom said, many minutes later as he slowed the car to a halt, parking up. He had coasted slowly along the first two miles of the trail, until the rain seemed to have paused. They were parked now on a slightly higher point, with a view of the desert plains beneath them. They could see a few miles of the trail ahead of them, winding around the higher and lower land.

There was not another car as far as Sara could see, and she liked that. She felt like she was a hundred miles from Vegas, from work, from her empty apartment.

"It's amazing," she agreed, getting out of the car. The ground was damp, but not too wet to walk. The air was crisp, clear. Sara breathed it in as she made her way, slowly, leisurely, down the trail that opened up to the side of the parking area. She didn't have to look back to know that Grissom was ambling some way behind her.

They walked until they couldn't see the car anymore. As the trail peaked, Sara slowed to take in the gradient. Grissom gained on her, and once again tucked his hand in her elbow, giving her a small push. Once over, she dared not speed up again for fear that he would release her. Instead she fell into stride with him, looking ahead but acutely aware of his touch.

When they came to a natural stop, looking out over a vast shallow valley, Sara shivered, the air temperature finally reaching her skin as she stopped moving. Her shivers intensified as he slid his arm around her shoulders. Her whole body was aflame with this first real contact. A million possible meanings beat a hasty rhythm through her mind. _Don't think,_ she told herself.

Grissom exhaled slowly. His heart raced as her hair fell across his arm. He felt the warmth of her through his shirt sleeves and wished for the moment, the silence and the touch, never to end. _But there are things to be said,_ he told himself.

"I owe you an apology," he began.

She was looking at the ground, at their four feet, standing perhaps closer than they ever had.

"What for?"

"I shouldn't have left you alone in that place." Sara let out a long breath as his words brought the moment back.

"I'm fine," she said, softly.

"I know you are, but I also know you're probably acting _more_ fine about it than you actually feel." Sara wrinkled her brow, wondering when he got to know her so well.

"Am I fooling you?"

Grissom shrugged, the fabric of his shirt brushing against her shoulder. "I guess you can put on a good act when you want to."

"What does that mean?" Sara asked, slowly.

"Just wondering if the other night, that was the truth." He was looking straight ahead.

"Why, you think I made it up?" She sensed that this was a conversation during which they were better off _not_ looking at one another.

"No, just thinking maybe you'd do what I'd do in a situation like that, tell the truth only so far as it doesn't expose me."

She was silent for a very long time. Eventually, she sighed, and spoke.

"I guess I felt like I'd already exposed myself enough." Grissom bowed his head slightly, nodded. Felt bad, knowing she was right, and took a moment to silently admonish himself once more for not doing this years ago, before she became tender and bruised. He pushed on, though.

"So did you mean what you said?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters to me." He knew he had exhausted her, made her tired and sad, and he wanted so much just to let her know that in no time at all those painful memories would just be eased away. The longer they stood like this, the less anything else in the world would matter.

She turned to face him, so that his arm slipped down and away. Her eyes so brilliant, deep, honest.

"You know how I feel about you." Her voice was so soft, so low, so strong.

"And I don't know how to tell you what I feel," he admitted. Sara looked up, briefly, and then back at him. She smiled in spite of herself. He had seen that smile before.He remembered the day he had pulled her out of a Forensic Anthropology seminar to work a case with him. She had been cool, until he had said those words, words he couldn't say now. _I need you_. And then she had flashed that smile, and it had not left him since.

"Well, it's starting to rain again," she said, moving a few steps away, "so you've got between here and the car to figure it out."


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: _Thank you for so many reviews – I love reading them, and they really do register with me, I take note. So here's the rest – it is complete now. Some of these chapters are much longer than the previous ones, because I was getting into having far too many and thought it might be easier to combine some._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine_

She started walking, briskly, back the way they had come. She had not gone far when she felt Grissom close behind her. A few more strides and he reached for her hand. She let him hold it loosely as they walked, the rain beginning to fall more fervently. He wrapped his fingers around hers, cupping her hand, warming it.

As the car came into view, the rain began to fall harder. Sara quickened her pace, and pulled him along. As they neared it, he slowed, making her turn and tug at his hand. He caught her other hand with his, and, facing her now, entwined those fingers, too. Slowly, as the rain began to soak her hair into dark tendrils, he backed her up the last few strides until they were against the car.

All the breath left her body as she made contact with the vehicle, the sheer surprise of what he was doing and the cold rain running in rivulets from them both. Their fingers slid together as he lifted her arms and pressed them, too, back against the car. His forehead made contact with hers, their lips but inches apart.

A few moments passed like hours in which their skin and hair touched and slid and mingled and their breath made a warm fog around them.

Sara's world went white when he kissed her, heat flaring in her belly. It was chaste, but urgent. Deep, but light. The rain fell on them as they stood, his body pressed so urgently and yet so perfectly against hers, making her weak, making her arch her back against the car so that he might get closer. His shirt was sodden, and she ran her hands slowly from his waist to his shoulders, feeling every inch of him.

Grissom's thoughts evaporated as he leant in to her. The feel of her lips was a sensation so superior to anything mind or body had ever known. He ran his thumbs along her face, as he had wanted, needed to do for so long. Her sweater was wet through, clinging perfectly to her curves. He hesitated a moment before laying his hands on her, conscious of the sudden arrival of all his wildest dreams. Slowly he smoothed the fabric against her cold skin, and felt her move closer to him.

Every time one of them made as if to pull away, the other moved in closer. And it rained on.

Eventually, Grissom felt her shiver, and had to admit that he was cold, too. The rain had been beating down on them, for all they could care, for some ten or twenty minutes. Grissom reached behind Sara and opened the back door of the car. She climbed in, gratefully, and he followed.

The door closed, shutting the noise of the rain outside, and suddenly they were in silence. Sara leaned between the front seats and set the heater on full, blasting warm air into the cab. As she returned to her seat, he moved closer so that they were side by side. She turned inwards, bringing one knee up onto the bench, and rested her head on the leather seat. He mirrored her almost, one arm extended along the back of the seat, fingers stroking her wet hair. She took his free hand in both of hers, carefully turning it over, feeling the softness she had felt so seldom before.

They looked at one another.

Her head span delightfully, allowing nothing but the moment to register.

He thought not of work or of the rain or of tomorrow.

"When I moved to Vegas, " she began, trying out the sound of her voice in this new, so long awaited idyll, "someone told me that when it rains here, everything gets a little crazy."

"That's true," he said, barely able to find the words, wanting only to kiss her again.

"I know, " she said, her voice lowering, her face drawing closer to his, "I think it was you that told me." She kissed him, taking his face in both hands, wanting to cry and smile at the same time.

They kissed for a long time, the rain replaced with warm air, the urgency with a languid delicacy. It was slow, and gentle. Perfect. After a long while, Sara pulled back. She fixed him with her steel eyes, a look that wouldn't take anything but the utter truth, boring into him.

"Is this something else I'm going to have to get over?" she asked, her voice soft, low.

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly.

"Are you sure?" He slipped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Sometimes the very thing we fear is what we don't know will make us whole."

She narrowed her eyes. "Voltaire again?"

He smiled, bringing her hand to his lips.

"Grissom."

When Grissom dropped her back at her apartment, Sara had to fight the urge to drag him in there with her. She couldn't make herself move from the passenger seat, as though getting out would break the spell. She was terrified that it would all come to nothing, despite his words. She looked at her hands, until, as if reading her mind, he slid one of his between them, lacing his fingers with hers.

"I know you're wary." He said, and she nodded. He sighed. "I can't assuage those doubts completely. And I don't… find it easy.. to.. you know, talk about things like this." She smiled now, the words _understatement of the new century_ springing to mind.

"But, " he went on, taking a deep breath, " I can tell you that you were right when you said everybody thinks about spending their life with somebody. And for what it's worth, I _did_ think about who that would be." He squeezed her fingers, and she wound hers around his anew, wanting the contact, loving the feel of him.

"And, " he added, "you say you haven't had a relationship that's amounted to anything since we met, but I haven't even come close to having a relationship _at all_." Sara's heart paused, and then lurched. Although, technically, she knew this, or thought she did, she relished hearing it from him and she loved what it now meant.

It was better, actually, than anything else he could have said. He may not have been able to say to her the things she could say to him, but he knew, instinctively, what she needed to know, and what would matter most. The validation of her wanting him for all these years was one thing – confirmation of _him_ wanting _her_ was something else altogether.

She looked at him. Nodded. Smiled. "One day at a time, then," she said, and he smiled.

"You want a ride in later?" He asked.

"Yeah, that'd be good." She hesitated, "Unless, you think…?" He read her look.

"I don't think anyone'll notice, just this once. In future, though, we might have to think about it." Her lips parted involuntarily, and her eyes grew wide. _The future?_ She was starting to worry that this was the beginning of a fever from being in the rain, warping her perceptions. Before she could decide, Grissom's arms were around her, as he pulled her into a hug. His breath was warm on her neck. He kissed her, softly, twice.

"Call me when you're ready to go in later," he said, and then she got out, letting her hand drag along his until the last possible moment, prolonging the contact.

Sara walked the short distance to her front door, feeling quite unlike she had ever felt in her life. Inside, she stood under a hot shower for a long, long time, letting the warmth spread back through her rain-soaked skin. She threw her wet clothes in the machine, and, without a second thought, got into bed, curling into a small, happy ball. She was asleep in minutes.

Grissom sat in the car for a long moment after Sara's door clicked shut. He had followed her every step as she walked away from him, knowing that everything had changed. He waited for fear to set in. And waited. When he could no longer hold back the enormous smile that was playing on his lips he began to realise it wasn't coming. _No fear_, he thought. _Huh. Interesting._

He drove home slowly, took a hot shower to stop the cold that was beginning to set into his bones, and made coffee. He sat at his desk with a book and the steaming mug, but didn't get past the third page. Surrendering, he took the coffee into his bedroom and flicked on a lamp. Moments later, coffee only half drunk, he was asleep.

When he awoke, four hours later, the smile was there before he could even open his eyes.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: _Thank you for so many reviews – I love reading them, and they really do register with me, I take note. So here's the rest – it is complete now. Some of these chapters are much longer than the previous ones, because I was getting into having far too many and thought it might be easier to combine some._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

It was like being seventeen again, Sara thought, her nerves dancing as she scrolled down the computer screen. There was no new case for her yet so she was assisting on one of Catherine's. Her sensory system was on overdrive. She was hyper-aware of the people around her, and even though she was alone in the small side office, she could tell exactly who was where in the lab around her. She could just make out Grissom's voice in the break room, talking the case out with Catherine and Warrick, and she wondered how long it would be before he 'happened' to swing past her door. He had done this three times since they had arrived.

He had picked her up after she had called him. It had taken her three attempts to successfully dial, twice bottling out at the last moment, unsure what to say. He had taken three extra circuits of her block, not wanting to seem over keen or be too early. When she actually got into the car, they both realised that all these procrastinations had achieved was to waste a few minutes together which they knew as soon as they got to work they would mourn the loss of.

It was like they did this every day, kiss one another all afternoon and then drive to work together. His mood was unusually buoyant, his eyes bright, and her mouth was twisted into that playful smirk she still didn't know drove him crazy. They took a moment in the parking lot to collect themselves. Sara was sure that the entire world would know with one look at her.

"You okay?" he asked, quietly, locking the car.

"Yeah," she smiled. "You?" He nodded. They made their way into the building, one a few yards ahead of the other, ready to explain their travel arrangements if questioned, but figuring if people assumed they'd just pulled in at the same time, all the better.

As it was, the rest of the world seemed strangely unaffected by their newfound lightness, and Sara retreated gratefully to the small hideaway to minimise the chances of having to have prolonged and coherent conversations with anyone that was not the rioting voice inside her head that still could not believe what had happened.

Grissom breezed through a run-down with Catherine, springing question after question about her case until she began to see it with new eyes, exploring an avenue she hadn't considered before he walked in. He enjoyed the interaction, and Catherine, although rejuvenated by his enthusiasm, didn't seem to suspect it. _Why would she,_ he thought, _It's not like she's seen me like this before._

He had not in fact _been_ like this before, and he decided that, fear notwithstanding, the best way to handle it was just to… let it be. A system that worked very well for him as he attacked some paperwork in his office and took the occasional turn around the building, merely to accomplish his duties as supervisor, keeping one eye on all of his staff. He looked in on Sara once, and then decided not to again, a decision that stood for all of forty minutes, after which he found himself back at her doorway, checking she was 'doing okay.'

On his fourth visit, two hours before shift was due to finish, he leant casually against the doorframe and watched her for a moment. She turned to look at him, that smile barely concealed beneath the serious face she had adopted for work. Looking at her, he couldn't help but feel that the afternoon they had spent, the rain and the words and the way she had pressed her body against his, was just the tip of the iceberg. Incredulously, he realised he was becoming… _impatient_.

This struck him as ironic, and he chuckled inwardly, remembering the disagreement that had set this beautiful train of events on its track. She raised her eyebrows.

"What's funny?"

"Just something you said to me once." She waited for him to elaborate, but instead, he said,

"Will I see you later?"

She crossed one long leg over the other, watching him watching her. "Do you want to?"

He nodded. "Then, yes, of course."

"Breakfast? Somewhere…away from work?" She smiled her agreement, noticing and enjoying the way he reiterated her choice of words.

"Good plan."

Two hours felt like six, at a time when Sara usually wanted the minutes to drag by, putting off the moment when she would have to decide between coffee and overtime or an empty house. Today, she could barely keep her eyes from the clock. As shift drew to a close, she was first in the locker room, first out the door, and driving towards her apartment before anyone else had even looked up from what they were doing.

Partly, she wanted to get home and get her head around the fact that Grissom would soon be calling her to arrange breakfast. More so she didn't want to get caught up in the night shift's breakfast plans and have to lie. She took a short shower and began to get dressed when a thought hit her. _Was this a date?_ She sat down on the bed, suddenly consumed by the yawning black hole of etiquette she now had to negotiate.

She got as far as thumbing nervously through her wardrobe before she stopped herself with the memory of their afternoon the day before, the rain and the condensation and the fact that she hadn't once thought about what she looked like, and he hadn't once looked as though he gave a damn. It was already about far more than that, she decided, and chose quickly, a shirt he had seen before, but not _too _often, one that clung, just a _little_ more than her usual work attire. She added jeans, the old faithfuls that fit her like a glove, and a fitted jacket. She spent no more than her usual ten minutes at the mirror, but did add lip gloss and perfume. She felt good.

When Grissom had said _somewhere away from work_, Sara's first thought had been the coffee house they had begun to make their own. Her second had been Red Rock, but only because that was now never far from her mind. So when he called and suggested breakfast at his place, she was surprised. Not because she wanted to go elsewhere, but because the idea that Grissom would invite _anyone_ to his house was a new one on her. It was only as she was driving over there that it began to dawn on her that she was no longer just _anyone_.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: _Thank you for so many reviews – I love reading them, and they really do register with me, I take note. So here's the rest – it is complete now. Some of these chapters are much longer than the previous ones, because I was getting into having far too many and thought it might be easier to combine some._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine. _

The sun had risen in the sky since she had left work, and was beating down on her as she walked up his driveway. She had been there a handful of times, for work, or once to give Grissom a ride when his car had been off the road. She had never seen the full extent of it, and was amazed to see, as he let her in the front door, that to the rear of the living room was a set of French doors leading to a canopied terrace out back. She could just make out a table and chairs behind the sheer curtain that billowed slightly in the breeze from the open door. She wondered why she hadn't noticed this before, and reasoned that it had probably been less obvious, without the additions of coffee pot and other things that told her this was to be the setting for breakfast.

She felt strangely close to him, standing there in his house, knowing he had done this for her. For them. For once, something was happening, and it wasn't an accidental arm brush to later be denied, nor a look that could be misread, nor even a set of circumstances that they merely found themselves in that excited their unresolved sexual tension but offered no hope of a resolution.

He wanted her here, and she wanted to be here. She smelt coffee and toast, and realised happily that she was hungry.

Grissom couldn't remember the last time another person had been in his house for so long. Occasionally Catherine dropped in after work for a coffee or something stronger, but never stayed more than twenty minutes or so, and he had semi-frequent social engagements with Brass, but even those usually took place in less personal places.

But watching Sara sitting opposite him, feeling pleasantly full, sipping good coffee, he wasn't even aware of what time it was. It could have been lunchtime, and all he could wonder about was how they had gone so long without ever doing this before. It was so easy. She talked, he listened, he replied, she listened. It was so simple, and he was touched to see how carefully she treated his words, taking every one in and thinking hard about anything that seemed to be of import. She was so attentive to him, so intelligent and well spoken, not too challenging, just stimulating. And she was _funny_. How had he missed that?

_You've missed a lot of things_, he reminded himself, sipping his coffee, watching Sara sit back, relaxed in a way he so seldom saw her. He had missed so much. Opportunities, mostly, and clues, precisely the things he was trained to notice. Yet the longer they sat there the clearer it became to him that, in spite of their strongest connection being one of work, what he and Sara were really about had nothing at all to do with the lab.

Eventually, around eleven, the sun drove them inside. In contrast to twenty four hours earlier, when the rain had seeped through every layer, today the sun spread languidly across the yard, warming them completely, and, ultimately, overly. Grissom moved around in the kitchen, putting away breakfast things and fixing more coffee. Sara leaned against the island, watching, at ease.

"So, " she began, after a few moments silence, "any regrets?" He stopped, cup in hand, and turned to look at her. "About?" He turned back, setting the cup down next to the coffee pot. She didn't say anything. He took a few steps, stood before her.

"Fear not for the future, weep not for the past," he said, and she narrowed her eyes at him, a smile just beginning to form.

"Cite your source," she said, remembering his trick the last time.

"Shelley," he said, his breath catching in his throat a little as she moved even closer.

"I hate quotations, tell me what you know," she said, leaning in so that her lips just barely brushed his ear as she spoke. He gave her a quizzical look, then began to understand the game.

"Cite _your_ source."

"How do you know that's a quotation?" Her cheek was warm against his.

"I recognise it."

"Okay, " she said, closing her eyes as he dipped his head to caress her neck, the sensation inviting her to give up much too soon, "It's Emerson."

"Knew it. How about this..Quote me as saying I was misquoted." He placed one hand on her waist, tentatively letting his fingers ruche the fabric of her shirt so that he felt the tiniest sliver of skin. She responded by laying both hands on his chest.

"Sounds like Marx." Her breathing had shallowed, and the husky quality to her voice was undoing him, piece by piece. Not to mention her knowledge of quotations which, quite frankly, turned him on.

"It is Marx," he replied, suitably impressed. She took hold of his lapels and all but closed the gap between them, lingering just an inch or two from his lips.

"How about this," she whispered, challenging him again, " You have… no idea… what you do to me." His eyes snapped up to meet hers, softening in amazement as he realised, almost immediately, that this was her talking.

"You took the words right out of my mouth," he sighed, pulling her in closer. She smiled.

"Great minds.. I guess…" she faltered, and before she could recover, he was kissing her, with a passion and grace that threatened all rational thought. Her hands were around his neck within seconds, snaking upwards into his hair and tugging in a way that made him only want to get closer. He let his hands wander across her stomach and up her back, tracing fine lines that made her shiver.

Later she would be unsure which of them had made the move towards the living room, but she knew that somehow they had ended up there, and he had lowered her gently onto the sofa, strong arms holding her. She had taken him down with her, and they had found themselves suddenly closer, more intimate, than even the rain and the car had been. His lips found her neck again, her collarbone, her chest, never venturing beyond the bounds of her neckline although driving her into a state that she could but just control. It was too much and not enough, and she hooked her leg over his to bring him closer still.

They kissed for a long time, over and over again building to almost the point of no return, tugging at one another, chests rising and falling sharply as they tested the formulae of this new science, before descending into quiet, small kisses, small caresses. They were constantly torn between the desire that threatened to overwhelm them and the sheer emotion that lay between them.

Sara wanted him, all of him, then. But she also cherished the notion that she could do this again and again, until that moment arose when they would tumble headily over the line. She no longer doubted that that moment would come. He left her in no doubt, running his amazing hands slowly, seductively, under and over her clothes, staying just shy of all the places she _really_ wanted him to touch her, but setting her alight even so.

Grissom could scarcely believe that a moment like this could come but once in a lifetime, never mind the silent, unquestionable promises Sara made as she kissed and touched him, running beautiful hands over his chest, his arms, his face. Each kiss told him how much she had wanted, needed him, over the years, and he began to imagine all the ways in which he wanted to make things right. Make things up to her. So he wasn't good with words, at least where Sara was concerned, but with this new kind of communication he was better.

Sara drew back, slowly opening her eyes as their lips fell reluctantly apart. Her hand was on his cheek, holding him close to her. The tips of their noses touched, their eyes locked. Neither could, nor would, look away.

They were getting through to one another now.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: _Thank you for so many reviews – I love reading them, and they really do register with me, I take note. So here's the rest – it is complete now. Some of these chapters are much longer than the previous ones, because I was getting into having far too many and thought it might be easier to combine some._

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nin_

The next two weeks passed so slowly, days taken up in her apartment or his, nights taken up at work. They let life roll out around them, talking, sleeping, kissing, learning. They went to dinner, they watched forensics shows, taking turns to point out the errors, doing their best to distract one another in competition. They read books, beginning at opposite ends of the sofa and ending up in the centre. They were careful with one another, handling the situation and each other's still tentative emotions gently. Sara didn't press him to tell her what he was feeling, and he didn't press himself to try.

Their confidence in one another grew, slowly, and in place of the early feverish urgency was a relaxed calm, as they explored one another's bodies lightly, Grissom finding the exact curve of her hip, Sara's fingers fitting snugly into the dip of his lower back as they lay beside one another. Knowing that the building emotion between them was becoming as significant as anything physical could be made them more than happy to wait, although they each struggled occasionally to hold back.

They just basked in the sheer beauty of what they had found, each morning when they were finally alone again a whole new set of discoveries, as though it had been years, rather than hours, since they had last kissed.

Until the world began to crumble around them. Nick was taken, and a dark sky descended.

This was their first real test at work. When the call came in, Sara and Grissom were closing a case. Twins, he was telling her, identical twins. She was suitably amazed, and they enjoyed some easy banter about it. In his office, she teased him about his Trigger certificate. She adored him for having it, he adored her for listening to him talk about it, and they shared a close, quiet moment before all hell broke loose.

They looked at one another a moment longer when Brass' call came in, letting the awful truth sink in.

"Get started here," Grissom said, slowly, softly. "I'll go." He rose, shouldering his jacket, not missing the look on her face. She hated to be left behind. He brushed a hand across her arm.

"I'll call you."

That was the last moment of softness in the building for days. They shifted into professional overdrive, thinking only of Nick and the vastness of the cruel puzzle before them, the solving of which meant so much more to both of them than they were used to.

Sara cried alone when Nick was found, relief and hurt flooding through her as she sat in her car, half way between the lab and her apartment. She stayed parked until she could see again, and tried to build the picture of Nick breathing into her mind, but could see only the bugs, and the dirt, and could hear only Nick's sobs.

Grissom wanted to cry when he saw Nick in the box. Scraping away the last layers of soil he had felt immediate relief and immediate pain, and wanted to gather Nick up like a child. He had felt the unfairness of having to co-ordinate even more life-saving efforts to evade the explosives, cursing the coward who had blown himself up the day before. His resolve wavered when Nick grabbed onto his hands, and the sight of him, such a strong, unshakeable man reduced to such a wreck, got right inside Grissom. When Nick was on the ground, safely out and alive, he wanted to pull him into a hug, to tell him how glad he was, to tell him it would be alright.

Instead, he took his grief home.

Sara didn't expect to hear from Grissom that night. He had gone to the hospital to see Nick, and would be there late. They were all exhausted, and she knew none of them were expected in the following day. She expected him to want solitude, finally, after their weeks of sharing, and didn't begrudge the thought. She was deeply set in her own grief, and was secretly a little wary of how they would fare, together, feeling this way. She went home, took a shower, and slipped into bed, aware that sleep was just a thought to be had rather than an action to be taken.

An hour later, she flicked on the kitchen light as she padded back through the apartment, not sure if the soft knock had come from her door or her neighbour's.

Grissom didn't know or care if she was asleep. He had been home, he had showered, got into bed, and then got up again, almost in one motion. He needed to see her, and when she opened the door, he could see in her eyes that she understood.

He did not say a word, but buried his head in her neck and held her, tightly, so tightly. The door clicked softly shut behind them as they stood, swaying a little with the strength of the gesture. Sara stroked his hair, breathing him in.

This kiss was different, and made her look into his eyes, searching. There she found a darkness she hadn't seen before, alongside the simple, loving passion she had become familiar with. He kissed her again, and she felt him trembling. She held his forearms, stilling him, soothing him. He kissed her forehead, the gentlest touch. She took his hand and tugged gently until he followed her into her darkened bedroom.

They were neither conscious nor caring of the line they had been stepping so gingerly towards. Any last barriers between them slipped down gracefully as they slowly undressed one another. It was the first and the hundredth time, their bodies fitting together expertly, the power and the passion of skin on skin causing them to hold onto one another for dear life. Senses blurred and inhibitions left them as their fingers entwined, over and over, again and again.


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: Okay - last chapter, just want to say thank you for reading, and reviewing.

Disclaimer_: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine_

When they awoke the next morning, the sun slipped through the gap in the drapes, casting a gold light across the rumpled bed clothes and the skin of Sara's back. Grissom, waking first, lay still, just watching her. The world looked a lot less bleak than when he had arrived the previous night. He could scarcely believe how his life had changed, and how he felt so different and yet more like himself than he possibly ever had.

Sara woke to late morning sunshine and the smell of coffee which turned her stomach in a good way. She rolled over to see Grissom sitting on the side of her bed, fully clothed. Her heart sank.

"You're going?" He turned at the sound of her voice.

"To get breakfast." Sara sidled over underneath the covers, enjoying the feel of them against her skin. She never usually slept naked, and she liked it. She slid an arm around his waist.

"I don't want breakfast," she purred, pulling him down to kiss her, "I want you to come back to bed." He smiled.

"What if I said you could have both?" She considered this for a moment, pursing her lips.

"I'd say… don't be long."

He wasn't. And when he came back it was as clear from his eyes as she could feel it in hers that breakfast wasn't really on his mind. Their hands never strayed far from one another and they had scarcely finished their coffee when they began to regard one another with a different kind of hunger.

Sara had never in her life spent a day in bed. Even when unwell she usually made it to her couch, where she could reach both the remote and the police scanner. But this day was different, and after calling into the lab to check they really were not needed, somehow, again and again they found themselves back between the sheets. The culmination of years waited and weeks drawing ever closer made it difficult for them to be apart, their bodies, once connected, needing to maintain the contact.

For Grissom it was about learning. Sara, in her entirety, was something to be taken in, bit by bit, and memorised. The new physicality and intimacy of her, without clothes, was a wonder, a mystery he needed to unravel. The way her breathing shallowed when he kissed her neck, the way her nails dug into his back when he let his lips brush over her navel.

Eventually, sated, soothed, and feeling closer than ever before, they showered, dressed and went in search of dinner.

Grissom drove them out of the city much like he had the day they had first kissed. Sara sat back, her eyes closed, his hand lightly resting on her knee, hers curled into it. Their silence was perfect.

She had been to the Lake before, but not to the marina, and as they pulled up in front of the low, jettied buildings she was amazed that it even existed, tucked away on the sheltered shore.

They walked slowly along the central jetty, watching the carp that swam in shoals all around the wooden walk way. The marina building itself was closed, keeping summer hours, but on the other side of the planked station was a small diner, laced beautifully with fairy lights, windows looking out over the shore. It was empty, but welcoming, and Grissom nodded in greeting to the large woman who seated them.

"You come here?" Sara asked, sliding into a window booth.

"Sometimes."

"It's beautiful," she breathed, watching the rows of boats tremble in the mild evening breeze.

"Since when are you interested in beauty?" he teased, opening a menu. Sara let out a very soft laugh.

"Since I met you, of course."

After dinner, Grissom opened the door of the diner and let Sara through, feeling her brush against his chest as she passed. He breathed in the contact. Once outside, he reached for her hand and they ambled, slowly, from one end of the jetty to the other, crossing almost the entire breadth of the small bay. They stopped when they reached the end, standing aloft on the wooden struts, the mellow water of the lake swilling gently around them, the carp that had followed their progress making languid turns as they circled idly.

He loosed her hand and wrapped both arms around her from behind, encircling her, his face dipped into the curve of her neck. She sighed, and leaned back into him. They stood, still, letting minutes go by.

She felt safe, and whole, and like the preceding years had just been a very long, slow school, learning the steps to this dance.

He felt comfortable, and breathless, and in the sun that dipped out of the sky ahead of them he saw the embers of an old, lonely life. In the skin beneath his lips he tasted the promise of the new.

He gathered her in a little tighter, and she slid one arm up around his neck. One of the smallest pleasures that had led them here.

"Sara," he murmured, against her skin.

She stirred. "Mm?"

"I love you." In the end it wasn't difficult to say, not difficult at all. She did not move in his arms, just turned her face in a little closer to his.

"I love you too."

END.


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